CELEBRATION
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He tells her, "I'm having a mid-life crisis."
The air is cool against his skin and her shoulders are exposed, thanks to the ridiculous get-ups that the decade offers her in galore. The night casts back a glow and he notices a smirk already marks those too-pink lips.
"That's ridiculous. You're hardly sixteen. Tell me, do you need remedial math courses, Severus?"
He steps along beside her (it's almost a habit, this) and tells her kindly, "I don't think I'll live long."
They both stop and she rests her head against his shoulder. It's the summer of 1975 and, with her doing this, he never wants it to end.
"Well, this calls for a celebration, doesn't it?"
She never resists a party, this Lily Evans that can't touch the Prefect badge that marks up something good on her Witch resume. The girl that struggles to prove herself above what genetic lines dictate and those that glorify magic for only the elite. The girl that sheds that dreary Scottish parlor for the hols of Muggle London.
She smiles and tells him that they're going to party like there's no tomorrow.
There's no opportunity to resist as she tugs him along and he quietly admits to himself that he probably would never have disputed her in the first place.
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She takes him to the first spot that offers them a free beverage (well, at least for her). She twirls her hair and manages to score two questionable drinks with her coquettish ways.
He murmurs slag in her ear and she tells him that she noticed he was parched. And, by the way, she owed Petunia money for the latest Rolling Stone album so there was nothing but this legal prostitution to put him out of his misery.
He offers her his hand and, uncomfortable as he is, he tells her if she'd like to dance (the closest he'll get to Prince Charming). Because he knows she likes to swish her hips to the blaring music.
His steps are awkward and his hair swings in a way that he hardly thinks is attractive. She's tightly pressed against him and he finds it hard to believe how she can keep up with those lavender platforms she insists on wearing despite them spelling out that she'll eat cement soon.
I live life on the wild side, she told him two weeks ago when she purchased them, Plus, this is the only opportunity I get to wear them. Her pout shuts him up as she continues (confiding her double life). You can hardly wear them with the Hogwarts uniform, those prudes are still stuck in the nineteenth century.
He agrees and she's a breath of fresh air as she clutches him closer and the record twirls on and on.
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It's only after he turns the same color as Polyjuice potion that she relinquishes him to the outdoors. His face is sallow and he could still taste that putrid substance that the bartender insisted on him trying.
Clunk, clunk, clunk, he hears her following him.
She's not a very tall girl, normally, but she measures finely with those monstrosities in plum. Her hand sweeps away the tendrils that tickled his face just a second ago.
"You lied," she whispers.
His stomach churns and he doesn't know whether it's the effect of her touching him or his lame attempt to see how far he could go before getting plastered. Conclusion? Not even a step.
"You told me you've tried Firewhiskey before. Muggle concoctions should pale in comparison."
"But I have," he wheezes out, "a sip."
She reprimands him but he can tell she doesn't mean it. Her hand slides down to his wrist and she tells him that he can throw up his contents in the park across the street.
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They don't even get there.
Their life is a twist and turn fest because she's spontaneous and simply because she likes to see London with all the lights. She tells him, as her hand still rubs against his side, that the Muggle world has its own magic and summer nights are the only time to realize it.
She always makes up nonsense when she's drunk.
"Tipsy, Sev, I'm just tipsy."
She proves it by missing a step and landing on him. Her giggles are heard throughout the street and she miraculously regains control of her internal navigation system. She always surprises him.
Before too long she halts abruptly and he's right-pressed against her back.
Her mouth is stretched out widely and her happiness is too contagious. His lips twitch.
She curls herself into him and points out a landmark. "Big Ben, right there."
"Hmm, Lily, I think you should stop teasing me about how much I can hold if you start naming inanimate objects."
Her lips purse and he thinks he pays too much attention to that part of her.
"I hope you're having fun, remembering the good days before you revert back to your angst and watch daytime TV."
He rubs her back and tells her that they simply could have gone to her room and listened to whatever she scavenged and he would have been all right.
But she shakes her head and tells him that they couldn't do this then. She points at her "Big Ben" character and breathes to him that this is where the muggle magic will begin.
It's 11:11 and he has exactly a minute to wish.
Ok, maybe less than a minute but do it fast, she mumbles into his ear, because then it's gone.
Her eyes shut tightly and her nose wrinkles in concentration. He can't think of anything but her, not when she snuggles close and continues being simply childish.
"I can't think of anything." he confides.
"Don't interrupt my wish thinking!" she exclaims in slurred words.
He thinks that maybe she's grown too attached to waving her wand around that she wishes that supernatural forces will invade this side of her world. But, whatever, this is his best friend Lily that's a bit touched in the head and whom, for some reason, he can't stop being around.
The seconds drag and he knows she's going to insist on this. She's going to berate him if he doesn't indulge her in her Muggle magic.
So he closes his eyes and the lights meld into darkness. It's just her fingers entangled in his that he can sense and her warmth.
It's just her that he wishes will never go from his mind.
But suddenly, she's gone. He opens his eyes in bewilderment.
"11:12," she says, "did you come up with a good one so we can end this party with a bang?"
She's in front of him and her eyes are bright with the lamppost shinning a spotlight on her slim figure.
"It's all rubbish anyway. As real as your Ben." he manages to say.
She takes his hand and it's like when he was wishing.
"Oh, you really are well-into your menopause, aren't you?"
It's the teases and jabs at his cynical character that he can only take from her. Because she's been there since the beginning and knows. So he lets her go by that way and tells her that he's had too much social activity for the night or even the whole week.
"You only take celebrations by the minute, I get it, you hermit." Her cheeks dimple and he tells her "maybe."
So he grabs her by the shoulders and they head back, idle wishes, lilac mankillers and all.
Notes: This is dedicated to rosweldrmr that requested some insanity from me of the Snape/Lily variety. It's the first time I've written anything for them, so, I'd appreciate the comments, thanks. :)